


Just A Touch of Holiday Luck

by MaccasWeirdFriend



Series: Just A Touch Of Holiday Luck [2]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: 21st Century, Childishness, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Thanksgiving, Typical John, mothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaccasWeirdFriend/pseuds/MaccasWeirdFriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You may all be wondering, what goes on with the four boys after they release their #1 single? How are the guys doing with their girls? Is Paul going to continue to be a teacher?<br/>Or maybe you just don't care about this and you're out to troll me and my writing. Thanks for being honest at least. ;)<br/>Anyways, follow The Beatles as they start their career 21st century style!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tis The Season For Giving

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I feel like Shawn Mendes . . . I've been without you guys too long so now I need stitches and all because I haven't talked to you in forever! Well, Happy Thanksgiving to you all! The reason this is up late is because I've been helping my mum cook so I finally had a chance to sit down. XD Enjoy as you eat your turkey!

"Can we go on tour now?" John asked Brian. Brian looked up from his normal position, sitting where the sound engineers worked. 

"Why?" Brian asked with a raised eyebrows and slightly widened eyes. Did he not remember what happened just last week when they went shopping at Macy's? 

"Because I want to see our adoring fans smile up at us and then we tell them thank you by singing to them." 

"You just want to see them throw themselves at you," Paul muttered, not at all believing what he had just heard. Brian wasn't buying it either.  

"I don't need to remind you of how wild your fans are—" 

"Me and George were watching this one FOX thing and it said our fans are more crazy than One Direction's. And some of them say they'll commit felonies for Harry. Imagine what they'll do for us!" Ringo interrupted. He looked a little too excited about this. Double for George. Brian looked at the two with raised eyes—fourth time today, anymore and he'd get wrinkles (!)—before he went back to John and his . . . tour.  

"Well . . . okay then. But it's not safe to do that just yet. Maybe a little while after you release the first album. By then, you'll have enough hype to have all the security you need and all the . . . fans." 

Paul snickered and looked down at his song notebook when John gave him a pointed look.  

"But that will be a long time! I can't wait that long! I'll be old by then!" 

"You'll still be 23 by then, don't be a drama queen," Ringo said as he patted John's shoulder with John almost not noticing at all. Almost.

"Why can't we do normal things, like Justin Bieber?" John whined as he trudged to his rhythm guitar.

"Because he has an entourage. And he started to have that entourage when he was famous enough. Right now, you're known all over New York and a good part of the country. Once you guys are known throughout all of the US, we can get one ," Brian explained slowly. John groaned just as slowly.

"Fine."

The whole room went silent as everyone looked at John with disbelief. Did he really just say fine?

"Umm . . . okay?" Their manager said, but almost as if he was questioning what was going on as he tried to spring back from his surprise. It obviously didn't work.

"Okay," John responded. He smiled and they finally started to record some music for the first album. One hour down, they thought but they didn't know there were another eight hours to follow.

"That was the longest day of my life," George moaned as he picked up his guitar case. He sipped his hot chocolate, filled with sugar, trying to make sure he didn't fall asleep standing.

"Easy for you to say," John croaked. "I've got a sore throat!" Brian jumped and pulled out more medicine which John ran away from like the plague. As much as he hated the pain of his throat and not talking, he hated the taste of that medicine much more.

"At least it's over," Paul sighed. He pulled out his phone and looked over reminder after reminder. At some points he'd start furiously tapping at it and others he would started to look over but the cycle usually continued.

And then stopped.

"What's up?" asked Ringo, trying to look at what made Paul stop but Paul stuffed his phone in his pocket before anything could be read could.

"C'mon Georgie, let's go," the bassist murmured and pulled out his keys, not so much as looking up from the ground as he started packing up.

"But what about—"

"Didn't you say you were tired? I'm not in the mood to carry you around, I've already got my bass."

George started laughing, saying that he wasn't that heavy and it wouldn't be that hard since he didn't weigh much but Paul dangled the keys behind him as he walked out of the recording room. The younger laugh all the way out of the room, going on about how much of a drama queen the other was and how he needed to take a chill pill.

"So what really happened?" George yawned as they stepped into the car. He curled up into the chair and it was practically certain that he would sleep very soon.

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Paul asked as he put the key into the car and turned the ignition.

"You were happy and then . . . not so happy."

"Thanks for the in depth explanation, now I totally understand what you were talking about."

"You do! You were looking down at your phone and then you got upset."

Paul held the steering wheel a bit tighter and focused on the road as if it was the only thing on earth. He didn't say a word.

"I knew it was because of that! What happened?" George asked. He seemed excited but already ready to punch someone just in case. Maybe it was George they needed to worry about and not the fans.

"Pick up my phone and look at my newest texts," Paul said in a tense voice. He didn't once look away from the road.

George picked up the phone and instantly went to the messages, eager to see what happened.

It was a stranger. There was no name put for the person, just their number but that didn't stop them from wishing a happy Thanksgiving.

And talking about tangerines.

"Dot?" George asked but all he got was silence.

Paul took his phone back, looking over the text just one time before he threw it into the back of the car.

The rest of the ride was complete and utter silence, save all the commotion that was happening on the streets.

George continued to try and reach back and get Paul's phone, analyze the text and see what he could get the second time around. Paul would return that with a slap to his hand, still not taking his eyes off the road. After a while George's hand started to cry out in pain and that was the end of that.

They got to their apartment and Paul waited for George to get out, who quickly got Paul's phone and rushed inside before Paul. 

"I think I'm going to bed," Paul said as they got into the elevator with their instruments.

"Okay. Want me to make you tea?"

Paul shook his head. The elevator door opened up and they shuffled awkwardly out, moving to their apartment and dropping their instruments at the door as they got inside. Paul went into his bedroom immediately while George lingered in the kitchen. He pulled out his phone and got to his contacts in little to no time. 

"John, we have a problem," George said into the phone.

"What? Did you run out of jelly babies? Because I literally told Paul—"

"No, it's not that. It's um . . . Plan D . . . I think . . ."

"Martha? What happened to her? Did she try to eat your guitar pick again?"

"Yeah, but no. Isn't it Code Dot?"

John sighed into the phone and George could hear Ringo ask what was going on somewhere in the background.

"What happened this time?" John asked as if it was almost routine. 

"She texted. Just said Happy Thanksgiving and was wondering how he was doing," George answered as he looked over the text one more time. 

"And that made him upset?"

"He's really sensitive about the topic, John. Seriously."

"Okay, okay. We're coming as soon as we can. Expect something big and . . . slightly stinky. Oh, and girls . . . and Eppy."

George looked at the phone, giving it a quick double take and put it back on his ear. "What? When did I agree to—?"

"See ya later, Georgie!"

And the line went dead. 

George looked around the kitchen, wondering what on Earth John meant. But this was John and no one could really understand him except for Aunt Mimi. At times, he wondered if John understood himself. 

He went into the pantry, getting a box of jelly babies and eating them as he let the time go by. Take the black ones to throw out, chew on the red ones heads and the yellow ones bodies to put them together and just eat—

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

George sighed and left his deformed and mismatched jelly babies on the table. He opened the door to have John smile at him. Then shove a turkey into his arms.

"Why'd you have to go off and do that?" George shouted as he struggled to put it into the sink. He sighed heavily when he let it fall in with a loud, deep thud.

"It was heavy . . . need I have any other reasons?" John said like it was a no brainer. "Anyways, Cynthia's still downstairs with Ringo and Eppy, Mo's coming in the morning and the same goes for Jane."

"You have Jane's number?"

John nodded and his smile turned creepy in the blink of an eye. 

"Yeah, Paul gave it to me when he got his new phone, remember?"

George shook his head but let John go back to the car and get the rest of the stuff. It gave George to eat the random jelly babies still on the counter. 

"Happy Thanksgiving Eve!" Ringo shouted as he came into the apartment. He had random boxes and cans in the bags that he held and George couldn't help but wonder how that was going to translate into food. 

"First off, who say's that?" George asked as he got the turkey out of it's bag. It wouldn't move, the bag acting like the turkey and it were one.

"I do. Why do Christmas and New Year's have eve's but not Thanksgiving? So it just seems fair."

" . . . Okay? Second off—never mind, Paul could sleep through an earthquake, hurricane and tornado siren test with ease."

Ringo laughed and started to take out the random things in the bag that he brought up.

"Cranberry sauce?" George asked. Ringo nodded and continued to take out more stuff. Cauliflower, string beans, carrots and more vegetables followed. 

This was going to be a long 10 o'clock at night for George. 

"I think that's enough getting ready for now," George said through a yawn.

"Aww, is Georgie-Bear tired?" John asked as Cynthia started to lead George to his room. He was trying to fight her, tell her that he wasn't that tired but then he yawned again.

"We've got the rest of this George," Brian said as he started to pack batters and pies into the fridge. "You can go to bed now."

"It's okay, I'll sleep on the couch. You guys can have the spare room and my room," George said as he flopped onto the couch.

"No, it's okay. We can—" Cynthia tried but snores already filled the room.

"Well, he must have been tired," Ringo said with a small laugh.

The rest of the packing up didn't take much longer. The three of them looked around, happy they got it done. And only at 2 in the morning.

"Good night you too, but I'm ready to sleep for a week," Ringo joked as he moved toward the bedrooms.

"Now you know how women feel every Thanksgiving," Cynthia said as she lead a very dirty John to the washroom. He was covered in flour, but there wasn't any on the floor. How that happened will forever be a mystery. 

"Well, thank God I'm a John," John murmured.

"Good night you guys, see you in the . . . later morning," Brian said and waved goodbye to the three as he went to his apartment. John sneezed, blowing flour into the air and went into the bathroom. Cynthia snickered and went into the spare bedroom while Ringo went into George's. 

Thud . . . . Thud . . . Clang.

"John?" Cynthia asked.

"I didn't break anything!"

"I didn't ask if you—John!"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Did you break something?

There was a bit of a pause from John. "Maybe," he said quietly.

Ringo could be heard laughing through the floorboards.

 

Paul woke up to the smell of . . . a lot of food. At first he didn't think much about it. George was probably microwaving the all of the contents of the refrigerator and then some. But then he heard laughter and he was pretty sure Pattie was at home with her own family. 

So he got out of his bed and then the bedroom to see what was going on, shuffling around in his pajamas. And then instantly felt under dressed when he saw everyone. Mo was putting rolls into the oven, 

"Hi Paulie!" John shouted enthusiastically , doing what he did best: mashing potatoes just as enthusiastically. 

Jane came up and gave him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. She looked as fashionable and sweet, as usual.

"Um, hi?" Paul said with a confused look but hugged her back. "Can I go get changed real quick—"

"What about the parade?" George asked as he peaked his head over the couch. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes.

"I'll be back in a second. I promise I'll watch the Macy's parade with you," Paul promised and went back to his bedroom. George sat back down with a giant smile, watching the Kool-Aid Man go down the street, happy to have his friend back.


	2. Late Night Snowball Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Nice Christmas Eve, isn't it? There's no snow on my side, but I hope there's snow on your side! This is one of those chapters that will be before Christmas Drink but still in line with it, so it's not so bad.  I'll be posting something again tomorrow, but I'm hoping it'll be long enough for you! ;)

John wasn't tired. 

His eyes weren't heavy, he hadn't yawned at all and most importantly:

He didn't want to be tired. 

Aunt Mimi made him go to bed and it was seven and it was apparently because Christmas the next day and blah, blah, blah. 

Well, what if I want to see Santa?

Santa doesn't visit kids that aren't asleep by 8. 

So yes, John went to bed. Still didn't mean that he was knocked out by the Sandman. 

He turned around in his bed for the thousandth time, throwing his pillow onto the floor only to pick it back up and put it on his bed. A small smile came to his face. He threw it down again, then picked it up again and repeated this again and again--

"John Winston Lennon! Go to bed! Now!"

John picked up the pillow and laughed as loud as he could. He moved back to his bed, putting the pillow on first and climbed onto his bed, facing the window. 

Only to finding a face with curious eyes staring back at him. 

John launched off his bed and fell flat on his back, only to hear laughter muffled by the glass between the two. 

The six year old scowled at the boy on the other end of the glass and got up slowly, studying the other before he came up with a very mischievous way to get even. 

But the guy had white hair and electric blue eyes. Who has hair like that? Aunt Mimi would never let him dye his hair so he wasn't sure why this person could do so. That's just not fair! At all! 

And he was wearing a thin blue hoodie with thin brown pants to match, frost creeping all over the two articles of clothing. 

Plus, he wasn't wearing shoes! It was supposed to snow overnight and he wasn't wearing shoes! Aunt Mimi would have yelled shoes onto his feet no problem. 

John walked over to the window and rapped at it with such force the white haired teen flew back a feet. 

Yes, flew. John couldn't even believe his eyes. 

He flung the window latch open and pushed the window doors quickly. The child peered out the window and nearly touched noses with the person flying in front of him.

"You can fly?" John asked in a loud voice. He wasn't sure if Aunt Mimi was asleep but caution had to be thrown to the wind for something like this.

"You can see me?" the other asked just as loudly. His icy blue eyes were rounded with happiness and utter confusion.

"Why couldn't I see you? You're you!"

The teen smiled and ruffled John's hair, which John didn't like much and protested to with ease. 

"I guess you're right about that, kiddo."

"You never said how you get to fly," John asked once again. The teen's smile went from one of happiness to a smirk of something Jack knew well.

"It's because I'm Jack Frost."

Okay, it wasn't what John thought he was talking about. The smirk was something much different than he thought. Nonetheless, John laughed at the teen--or should he say, Jack Frost--as the other glared from his place outside.

"What's so funny?" Jack asked with a scowl on his face. John continued to laugh at him, not worrying if Aunt Mimi even heard him.

"How are you Jack Frost? You don't have a pointy nose!"

Jack's scowl worsened but he couldn't help a self-conscious as he started to feel the end of his nose. He didn't have a pointy nose . . . did he?

"I am so Jack Frost!" Jack argued, raising the wooden staff John never noticed before. It too was frozen over. If this Jack guy wasn't the real Frost, then he at least had an obsession with the cold and frozen things. "And I'll prove it to you."

John raised an eyebrow, not really impressed. Six year olds, impressed by the weirdest things but clearly not everything.

"Oh yeah?" John asked, interest clearly there. "If you can't prove it to me in the coolest way ever, you're not Jack Frost."

Jack's smile came back. If Aunt Mimi hadn't already fallen asleep, she would have at least heard the start to a very crazy Christmas Eve night. 

. . . . . . . . .

Jack was flying dangerously low over the streets of Manhattan. And he didn't have the tightest grip on John so every time they swerved by a car last minute, John would scream in fright or reach out for Jack's staff to hit him with it. But Jack would tighten his grip on John's sides and those reactions would stop. For a while at least.

"Are you trying to kill me or is this what Jack Frost does for fun?" John huffed as they flew past a semi. Jack laughed as if that was good enough for an answer and continued to zoom around until they got to an abandoned sled. By then, John's face was red from the wind beating at it and his hair was incredibly tousled, sticking up in each and every direction.

"So . . . it's a sled."

Jack nodded and started to tap the area surrounding the two and the sled, it turning into ice. 

"That's it?" 

Jack frowned at John's lack of enthusiasm and instructed him to sit on the sled, which he did with a good amount of mumbling and complaining. 

"Now what else?" John asked, eyebrow raised again. Jack groaned and moved behind John. 

"How long of an attention span do you even have?" Jack wondered allowed as he started to push John and the sled into a particular direction.

"Aunt Mimi says it's worse than a goldfish's. I just say it's because the world is boring."

"What about your mom?"

John shrugged and murmured that his mom was away a lot, leaving it at that. The wooden transport stopped and the six year old looked back to a face full of mischievous thoughts and things to be done. John gulped in worry but turned back around before Jack could say anything. 

Without warning, Jack pushed the sled with as much force as possible and flew right in front of it, leading it and the boy on it on an icy path. 

Jack continued to zig zag his way around. At one point they would be on the sidewalk, zooming down and nearly ramming people down to going straight into the middle of the street with no problem. For Jack, that is.

John on the other hand was gripping to the wooden thing for dear life. They were going very fast and it was obvious Jack just wouldn't stop any time soon. John didn't dare close his eyes. He was both too scared and a bit excited on what was going to happen next. It was like going on a rickety old, wooden roller coaster. You wanted to know and see everything that was going on because it was cool but at the same time you were counting on the thing to fall apart in seconds. 

"Do you believe that I'm Jack Frost now?" Jack asked as he turned around to face John, back to the traffic. The cars . . . the trucks . . . the mail trucks . . . 

Jack didn't move an inch and didn't even turn around. 

"Nope! Anyone can take me on a sled ride across Manhattan!" The child yelled back but his voice obviously shook with fear. 

Jack laughed and spun around, flying high above John. His laughter continued as John started to pray he didn't get run over. Yes, pray. Jack was actually forcing John, John freaking Lennon to pray. What a Christmas Eve. 

Snow slowly started to fall around John, coming out of nowhere. John looked up again, seeing that Jack was the cause. 

"How about now?"

John didn't say anything, leaving his mouth to skid across the ground as he left it open wide. 

The ride started to get smoother--meaning less prayer--and the snow started to come down a bit more. Finally John could let go of the sides and allow blood to flow through his hands freely again. 

By the time there was at least half an inch on the ground, the sled came to a full stop. 

"Exciting, huh?" Jack asked as he came back down, looking very excited about what he just did. 

John looked down at himself, covered in snow and already a bit cold. Good thing he kept his shoes and thick robe on. 

But he liked going around and getting honked at as people wondered how on Earth he was moving around that quickly. He liked the rush of going into the street and leaving it before danger was too close. And he really liked the snow. 

"Maybe a bit too exciting. But it was really cool, Jack Frost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you're wondering, this is the Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians, just about my favourite Jack Frost. And a tidbit, in the movie you can only see him if you truly believe him. Cute if you ask me. 8D Now enjoy the day! I'll be writing if you need me. ;)


	3. Walking In A Frozen New York Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: YES! I somehow did it and didn't epicly fail! I feel accomplished! But anyways, MERRY CHRISTMAS! Wishing you happiness from here in the States so enjoy! ♡

George always celebrated Christmas with his family. Always. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Even if a friend was trapped at the bottom of a well--why would one of his friends be stupid enough to fall down a well anyway?--then they could just suck it up and drink the water there as they waited for Boxing Day because he was at home drinking hot chocolate or eggnog. With his family. Enjoying not being stupid enough to fall down any wells.

But then Pattie came along. And she became his world. And his time. And anything he would think about, talk about or do stuff with. Paul called it an unhealthy obsession, he called it actually putting an effort into a relationship. And there was the problem.

Pattie lived here in Boston, not too far off from the high school they went to. George on the other hand lived in Marine Park, Brooklyn and that was some distance away. Either 4 hours by car or an hour by plane. A bit long if you asked George.

That didn't stop them from seeing each other this Christmas. . . even though it was just about to hit 3 in the morning. And it was 50 degrees out. Not horrible like last year but the wind chill wasn't helping anyone.

George sat on one of the benches at Arnold Arboretum, feeling just a bit awkward. He wasn't even supposed to be here for another 4 fours or so because it was open at sunrise and the sun obviously had more sense to sleep longer than George. But the moon was really bright and the stars were twinkling enough to make a good substitute for the sun. It didn't do much on his worry about the violence.

He looked down at his phone again, jiggling his knee as he fidgeted in the one spot on the couch. The river--or whatever the Harvard people called it--reflected the moon as it sat a bit low in the sky, the image a bit ruined by the ripples going through it thanks to the wind.

George sighed and looked around for a bit before getting a tap on the shoulder. He jumped off the bench and grabbed onto the mysterious person's arm, twisting it behind their back like he was taught by his older brother. Until he smelled nice, expensive perfume. Uh-oh.

"George! Can you please let me go?" Pattie yelled, voice a bit shaky. "I won't scare you again, promise!"

George instantly let go and gave her a kiss on the cheek as a sign that he was sorry. She rubbed her shoulder slowly, raising an eyebrow at him but smiling all the same.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't know it was you," George sputtered out and went in to give her a hug for extra measure. She didn't move away from it but she didn't return the hug either. "Really. I'm really sorry."

"I know, I know. But we need to be quick, don't you need to be there before 8. Y'know, when your folks wake up?"

George smiled and kissed her on the cheek once again. "You know me so well."

"I know, it's what makes me a good girlfriend." She winked at him and finally returned the hug.

They walked over to the river, admiring the trees and some of the bushes that were still holding onto a few flowers. Even without the winter snow, it was still beautiful enough for them.

"Time to exchange gifts?" George asked as he felt around in his pockets for the gift he got Pattie.

Pattie nodded and looked at her gift too. She knew that it was going to blow him away. No doubt about it.

"Okay, close your eyes now. I love 'em a lot but I'll bear not being able seeing them for a few seconds."

She rolled her eyes before listening to George and closed them. She smiled, waiting for him to say or do something that signaled she could open her eyes. Instead she felt him slowly and softly move his hands around her neck. It was possibly the weirdest thing he ever did--that she knew of--and with her eyes closed, that made everything feel weirder.

"Now open them," George finally said and she could hear the excitement that was running through him. How he got this excited about giving stuff to people amused her. It was like finding a nice guy and finding out he was made out of diamonds and gold instead of regular niceness. Just flat out perfect. That's what George was, flat out perfect.

"There's nothing in your hand," Pattie murmured in a very confused sort of way. George's already bright smile got a few watts brighter. He motioned for her to look down, only making her tilt her head in confusion. George could just kiss her.

Before he even got the chance to take a step forward and do so, Pattie looked down to see a very beautiful necklace that said Always, okay? written out with diamonds. There were perks to having a girlfriend that likes Harry Potter and read the Fault In Our Stars. This was just one of many.

"Georgie, this is so sweet! How did you do it?" Pattie squealed as she ran her hands over it. She couldn't stop dancing all over from happiness. It was the best gift any boyfriend had given her, hands down.

"Apparently releasing an album gets you a lot of money," George answered causally, like everyone released an album.

"How much of it did you use?"

"I dunno. All of it, give or take."

"Why did you do that? I'm not worth that much!"

"Yes you are! I really . . . really like you."

Pattie went silent for a moment, to just stare at him. They looked at each other, possibly knowing what might have been said, what might have happened but at the same time it was easy to say the complete opposite. She looked down and smiled, feeling herself blush.

"Okay," Pattie said as she pulled out her phone. George raised an eyebrow. "Look here."

George looked from the phone to her and back again for a few times.

"My gift is a picture of a guitar? How'd you even crop it into your bedroom anyway?"

"So ungrateful," Pattie murmured with a roll of her eyes, yet her smile betrayed her. "You got the guitar, smart one."

George gapped at her. She did not. She shouldn't have. But she did. He took the phone from her hand and looked at it.

"It's beautiful. And it's a Gibson Les Paul. How'd you know I've wanted this?"

"It's kind of hard not to notice when you have posters of guys holding the exact same thing."

George frowned when she said thing. Guitars are more than just things. They're practically life. But he looked at the phone again and she could have said that she destroyed the other guitar he had, his first one ever and he wouldn't have cared.

At least not totally.

"Look at the wood, it's practically shining through the phone and the strap's made of leather so it'll be comfortable--"

"I think you like the guitar better than you like me."

"That's a lie! It's just a really beautiful guitar."

"And I'm not beautiful?"

George wondered how on earth this went from his new guitar to Pattie. She wasn't making thinking any easier on his still sleepy mind.

"No! No! You are beautiful, stunning even and I'm downright lucky to have you as my girlfriend. But this guitar--"

"George!"

He gave her back the phone and gave a sheepish smile. In all honestly, the guitar was something of dreams.

"Thanks a million, Pattie," George said as he hugged her tight. "But I need to get going now. Traffic might get bad soon and 8 is the absolute latest time my mom said I could be there."

Pattie nodded and patted him on the back, saying it was perfectly fine in a way only they knew.

"Do you want me to walk you home then?"

Pattie shook her head, allowing her hair to move across her cheeks the way George thought was utterly adorable.

"I walked here on my own just fine. I think I can walk back home alone just fine."

"Okay, I'll see you soon. I love you!"

George didn't realize what he said until it came out of his mouth. He paled and coveted his mouth with his hand. Pattie merely laughed and waved goodbye.

So he'd been the one to say it first. And John had already put his beat on Pattie. Looked like Ringo was getting 20 dollars.

He ran off to Paul's car before he went off and proclaimed his undying love to the street lamp that had so nicely given the two light.

George opened the door of the car and slid in, groaning as he did so. All he wanted was another 4 hours of peace, would that be too much to ask?

"So you nearly break your girlfriend's arm and say you love her in the same night, let alone hour?" Paul asked, but it was obvious what he was doing.

Looks like peace was thrown out the window when George sat in the car.

But the finger he put up to Paul was certainly staying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That was cheesy with a side of mozzarella, huh? But I tried! That's all that counts, right? I'm seeing pitchforks so I'll assume the opposite. XD Have a lovely rest of the day. I'm spending it with my presents--I mean family!


	4. New Year's Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, I was off. REALLY off. But it's here now and I'll (hopefully this time) have something here on time for Valentine's Day (with Ringo and Mo). For now, stay here and . . . I guess you can have some hot chocolate too. 8) No pitchforks though!

"Do you want to have hot chocolate?" 

Paul was rummaging through the cupboards, looking for things that had been there a long time. The hot chocolate was far into the back. Not good and very odd for someone who claimed to love it.

"Why should we have hot chocolate on New Year's?"

John on the other hand still wasn't wild about it. He hadn't been taken to start calling it 'liquid gold', didn't enjoy having it practically everyday like Paul did and certainly didn't get upset when it wasn't around. As many times Paul would say he didn't freak out, it only added to the fact that he did.

"I don't want it to spoil . . ."

"Yeah, that's totally the reason."

"It's not my fault you thought going to the ball drop was a smart idea. You literally slammed your way through the door with all the alcohol in your system. You need something to drink to get hydrated."

"I think it's water that they say people with hangovers should drink."

"I can make hot chocolate with water. It might taste bad but--"

"Okay, fine I'll take it."

Paul smiled to himself. Finally. Now John would finally like this most amazing holiday drink. Too bad the price was always ridiculous out of the winter season, he would buy it forever. 

He put a pot of water on the stove and flopped next to John on the couch.

"What are you watching?"

John looked at the screen a bit closer this time, blinking slowly and tilting his head to the side.

"Y'know," John murmured. "I've got no idea at all. I turned on the TV and this was here."

Paul gave John a look by turned his eyes towards the TV before John noticed. With George still not back,as he always came back on the second of January, Paul was bored. And that meant he noticed everything. Especially John's weird behaviour recently.

"So . . . You know nothing about this Rafael guy?"

"Other than the fact that he's both really thick and nice at the same time, not really."

They fell into another silence, watching as Rafael was running down a hotel hallway for a girl, energetic music playing quietly. Paul's hands fidgeted, moving to the mini notebook he had on the coffee table but John slapped it away no problem.

"What was that for?" Paul asked, sounding a bit hurt as he rubbed his hand. John rolled his eyes and jabbed his finger in the thing's direction.

"We're supposed to be relaxing from releasing an album. Y'know, no writing music. No picking up your bass."

"And what about--?"

"You can't take George's or my guitar. Or even somehow smuggle Ringo's drums in here."

Paul slumped into his seat, muttering about the fact that he'd forget aewhat he was going to write. It obviously fell on death ears.

As Rafael 'saved the day', the bass player got up from the couch to turn off the stove and get the boiling water. John's attention was glued to the TV, wrapped up in Rafael's girl problems. Looks like John found a new obsession to go along with his Tardis sized one.

Like a pro, Paul made the coco. Chocolate-y but not so much that there was some sticking to the bottom and not so little that it looked like murky water. It even had a creamy taste without the milk. He was a hot chocolate genius. No doubt about that.

"Here you go," Paul happily as he already drank half of his own cup. He gave John his, John looking at Paul with a raised brow. John slowly took it, sniffing it tentatively and having his eyebrow raise ever so slightly. 

"What is this?" John asked with slight disgust over the hot drink. Paul tilted his head, much like how Martha usually did.

"It's . . . erm, a peppermint flavoured sort of hot chocolate." 

John's eyes shot open immediately from the calm look he had a few seconds ago. He put the cup down fast enough to have the drink slosh around and get onto his hand as it sloshed around. The guitarist hissed, scrunching his face into a furious sort of look. 

Paul didn't utter a word as John continued to shake his hand and hiss from the pain of the burn on his hand. Until John stopped and settled with holding the hand close to himself did Paul decide to talk. 

"Why did you do that?"

John's head snapped up and he turned to Paul with a guarded look. John shook his head and settled with not even looking at the cup.

"John, you've got to answer me."

Paul got no response. 

"Are you allergic to peppermint? I swear, there's probably not even any real peppermint in there. It's probably just some fake flavouring--"

"Calm down, Paul," John said with a small laugh. "It's nothing. Just a promise."

"A promise that you'd forever hate peppermint? You didn't even like it when we first met."

John gave Paul a lopsided grin but it wasn't as carefree or true as it was before. Paul wasn't buying it for a moment. John sighed, staring at the cup of hot chocolate instead of Paul.

"I made a promise to not to have peppermint."

"Because you're allergic?" Paul asked, trying to make a joke. John didn't pick up on it and rolled his eyes as he continued to look at the cup of hot chocolate.

"No, I told I'm not allergic. It's actually a kind of long story."

John was sitting in the front room, reading Alice In Wonderland over again. She'd just gone down the hole and he was excited to get to the part where she was sitting in the tea party, that was his favourite part. And all because of the Mad Hatter. 

"John! Come here, John!" Aunt Mimi called from a separate part of the house. Sally bounded toward him, jumping on his lap and taking the book in her teeth. She jumped down, book still in mouth and ran to where Aunt Mimi had to be. 

"Sally! Sally, come back! I don't want dog cooties on my book!" John yelled after the dog, but Sally was the faster person . . . or being . . . and continued on until she dropped it on the kitchen floor and sat happily at Mimi's feet.

John picked the book up, furiously getting to work at getting the saliva off the cover as his aunt cleared her throat. 

"Yes?" John asked, looking up for a moment from what he was doing. The elder smiled at his determination and looked out the window quickly before he saw.

"You should go outside and play with Sally. It's been a while since you got some fresh air," Aunt Mimi told him. John nodded , putting his book onto the counter and running to the backyard with Jack Russel Terrier coming in right behind.

John only managed a few paces before he noticed someone standing there. And he was filled with happiness seeing her.

"Mommy!" 

It was a rather childish thing to say but he was eight years old and this was his mother, who he doesn't see very often, standing right in front of him. He ran straight toward her and hugged her tightly, burying his face into her and just get wrapped by strong, loving arms.

"Hi John, it's nice to see you again too!" Julia said, voice light, airy and sweet. She continued to hug him, allowing Sally to jump in a circle around them as she was delighted to see Julia too. 

"Do you have the candy?" John asked the moment the hug was over. Julia laughed and it was a light tinkling sort of sound. She started to dig into her pocket, first giving Sally the biscuit the terrier was begging for.

"Yes, Mr. Impatient, I've got it right here. Remind me again why you've never had it before." 

He held out his hand to get the candy first, then answered after. Always the business man, John was.

"It's because Aunt Mimi doesn't want me to have candy a lot and it'd be easy for her to smell the peppermint," John said in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "And plus chocolate gets all over my face."

He put the small circular treat in his mouth, smiling as he finally tasted it. To say John liked peppermint would be an understatement beyond any kind.

"You didn't have any when I was gone, did you?"

John shook his head furiously. He would never break a promise he made to his mother. Never!

"And you're not going to have any while I'm gone?"

John smiled and nodded. This was their thing. Every mother and son had one and John thought it was great that their thing was peppermint. They never had one without the other or else it wouldn't be their thing.

That was prefect enough for John.

Paul sat on the couch with a small o formed by his mouth. No mom, Paul thought slowly, no peppermint. And especially if-

"Don't give me that look."

Paul snapped out of his thoughts and asked what he meant by "that look".

"Y'know, when people look at you like you're a wounded dear that needs help. But you're worse about it because you have doe eyes."

Paul looked hurt. Well, not really. But who could tell with those doe eyes?

"I'm not going to even bring myself to talk about the doe eyes thing. But I think you need to visit your Aunt Mimi."

"Why?" John asked, still holding his hand even though the burn went to a small, numb pain.

"Because you miss your mom. Don't you think she would have some memories you guys could talk about?"

"Well . . . yeah, I guess-"

"Then get off your lazy butt and go to the TARDIS!"

Paul didn't leave John a chance to think or answer as he picked up the keys and walked out of the apartment without a single glance backward. With a sigh, John got up and followed his friend. 

. . . . . . . . .

"We're here, now what?"

Paul gave John a look and rang the doorbell. It gave off an ancient chime, like a short something Mozart would compose in his free time.

The door swung open, showing a very surprised looking Mimi.

"John? I wasn't expecting you here today."

It was obvious. She was wearing sweatpants. Of all things, sweatpants. Cynthia in sweatpants had suddenly lost all appeal in that moment.

He looked over to Paul only to find no Paul. And with another turn, no Tardis. Apparently the car was only louder on the inside.

"What are you looking for?"

John was going to correct her and say he was looking for a who and not a what, but ended up shrugging his shoulders.

"Can I come in and have . . . some tea I guess?"

Aunt Mimi smiled, nodded, hugged him. Anyway she could show she was happy with that she did.

"Well, I only have peppermint tea. Are you alright with that?" Mimi asked as John came into the house. It was exactly like he remembered it when he left for college.

"Yeah, I guess that'll be okay. Peppermint can't kill anyone, right?"

For the rest of the day, they talked about all the memories that happened in the house, not at all acting as if they hadn't seen each other in months.

It was almost as if they were mother and son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If Aunt Mimi wasn't allowing John to have candy as a kid, I've got a lucky guess. Anyways, sorry again for the lateness! Next time has to be better. Comment and all that jazz though. ;)


	5. Valentine's Day Delivery!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I suck, I know. I was supposed to have this out yesterday but church and I'm lazy and I need sleep cause school and-I dunno. I'm forever alone, I'll just leave it at that. So read the irritably short one-shot and comment at the end. <3

"The only track I want to have is the one to your heart . . .? Ringo, on what Earth are you a train? Isn't that technically self-abuse? Do we need to take you to a shrink?"

"I don't think it works that way, John. Maybe it's a joke? Don't you think so, George?"

"I dunno. That's why I don't do cards. I let my guitar do the speaking."

"I honestly thought you were going to say lips."

"C'mon John, that's always second--"

"Why am I taking tips from a high schooler and two immature guys?" Ringo yelled, hair being pulled mercilessly by his own hands.

"Because you're just as immature?" John stated with a straight faced.

Ringo sighed miserably. His friends were . . . different. He couldn't believe that they were even his friends. 

"You need our help, that's why you came. So we're going to give it to you," Paul said soothingly as well as hitting John over the head at the same time. "But what do we do?"

"We could get a plane with those banners at the end, that always works."

"That only works if you're trying to get someone fired."

"Exactly, it always works."

"But it makes no sense-"

"I don't know what you guys are doing, but I'm going to a fancy restaurant so see ya," George called from the door but John covered the distance between them easily and pulled him by the collar. 

"If we're working on this hopeless cause, you've got to be here too," John muttered as the younger was pulled back to the round table they were sitting at. Ringo glared in his direction but didn't say anything. It would have been useless knowing John.

Paul, on the other hand, snapped his fingers with bright eyes.

"You said a fancy restaurant, right?"

George nodded.

"And what table did you order?"

"Table for four," George said smugly. "Y'know, to beat the system."

"When you say stuff like that, I really worry about you. Makes me feel like I ruined you."

"Only a little, but you should worry about yourself, it's snowing outside. Didn't you say that you wanted to have a picnic in the park?"

Paul's eyes shot open and he ran to the window to open the blinds. Sure enough, there was snow covering the edges and the roads getting less and less easy to maneuver in.

"Do you think it'd be cool if we just asked for a bigger table?" Paul asked in a small voice. His head was stuck to the window bar the occasional headbutt he gave the glass. 

Please let it work. Please let it work.

. . . . . . . . .

"We don't do that, it's against our seating policy."

Ringo, Paul and George stood there with mouths open. If John was there, he would have died of laughter. But he wasn't because apparently a romantic night out for artists is staying in and painting or whatever.

"What do you mean? I see an open table for six right there!" Ringo argued, pointing to a table not even a few feet away from them. The lady shook her head, keeping the slightly creepy smile that she thought would probably diffuse the tension. It really did the exact opposite.

"But it wouldn't be fair to the party that will want that table when you already got a table for four," she explained slowly. 

"But we've already been here for ten minutes. Those imaginary people aren't even here and probably never will be."

"But you never know, Valentine's Day is a pretty busy day."

"You never know if someone will leave, there are a ton of restaurants in New York that would be just fine seating a table of six," Ringo said calmly, shrugging his shoulders and moving toward the door to leave. 

It would have been nice to say that Paul and George went along with this but they mostly stood in shock and slight fear for what the girls would say. They were standing not to far off and would have heard everything if they weren't talking.

"Okay, okay I'll try to work something out! I'll get your menus right now!" The girl exclaimed, not at all liking being trapped in this sort of a situation. 

"That's how you do it children. But seriously, that was really close. A bit too close."

Paul rolled his eyes but a small smile was still there. 

"Did you write her a new poem?" George suddenly asked as the waited for their table at last. "That last one was atrocious."

"It wasn't that bad, you guys just really hate trains," Ringo murmured as he took out the little card he had made.

"No, you're just really bad at synonyms or whatever," George murmured back as he took it. "Roses are red, violets are blue. This is no better way to say that I love you too. What do you mean by-Is that a RING?"

The diamond in the middle of the ring had to be the size of a small rock or a large pebble. Either way, it was sparkling enough to be seen in outer space. 

"I know, I'm an epic boyfriend, soon to be fiance. No need to be jealous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So . . . there's a possibility I won't even write a second part to this mostly because I reaaallly don't want to get into the whole "Beatles in the 21st Century" meaning I've gotta do a Beatles Break-Up thing. That means, no marriage. I was just trying to be sweet. And it's probably back fired. Sorry. XD

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My brother didn't let me watch the Dog Show . . . nor the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade . . . I'm dead inside right now. But this is definitely the first of many. I'll get more up sooner rather than later (hopefully) so I don't have to see the days go by so slowly. Thanks for reading and have a happy day!


End file.
